RvB Randomness
by KnifeFightin'Lobster
Summary: A couple of drabbles I wrote, one humorous, one not.
1. Gasoline

**Disclaimer**: Halo was created by Bungie and owned by Microsoft; Red Vs Blue is property of Rooster Teeth.

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><p>Private Dick Simmons sometimes wondered why he even bothered getting up in the morning. Between Grif condescending him when he was trying to do his job, and Sarge's complete lack of appreciation for all the maroon soldier had done for the team, and the Blues were always the same old assholes they always were. And now Church had somehow nailed a lucky shot with his rifle, wrecking one of the tires on Red Team's warthog, forcing the Reds to continue their attack on foot. Which led to Grif complaining more.<p>

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><p>"Church! That was a great shot!" Caboose said excitedly.<p>

Atop Blue Base, Leonard Church grinned to himself. "Yep. To be honest, I don't think anybody else would be able to make that shot. Nailing the tire on a moving jeep, that's a good shot."

"C'mon Church, we all know you were trying to hit Sarge." Tucker said.

Church sighed. "Yeah. Still, if I had been aiming for the tire, that would've been a Hell of a shot."

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><p>"Seriously... can we take a break?" Grif panted, leaning against a nearby rock.<p>

"Damnit Grif, we haven't even been walking for five minutes!" Simmons yelled.

"Hold up you two!" Sarge ordered. "It's quiet. Too quiet."

**BLAM!**

A high-velocity, armor piercing bullet sailed harmlessly past the Red leader's helmet. In the distance, the Reds could barely make out the shouted word "FUCK!"

"Darn Blues, screwing up my line." Sarge growled. "We're gunna need a distraction. Grif, Simmons! Go back to the Warthog."

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><p>"Looks like they're leaving." Church said, glaring through the sniper scope. "No, wait. They're gathering around the warthog."<p>

"Maybe if you aim for their jeep, you'll hit one of them." Tucker said, chuckling.

"Asshole." Church muttered under his breath.

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><p>"So... why are we back here?" Grif said, sitting on the hood of the Warthog.<p>

**BLAM!**

A sniper round destroyed the right headlight of the armored vehicle. In the distance, the Orange soldier heard "Why the hell can I hit the jeep when I aim for it, but not the Reds when I aim for them?"

"Can it, Grif!" Sarge growled, siphoning gasoline from the armored vehicle. "We need a distraction. So here's what we're gonna do. Simmons and I will soak you in gasoline, then set you on fire. Then, while the Blues are busy watching your girly flailing and pathetic screaming, we circle around and kill them!"

"Wait... WHAT?"

"Excellent plan, Sir." Simmon said respectfully.

"Trust me Grif, this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it'll hurt me."

"Don't you have that saying backwards?"

"'Course not! I'm not gonna be the one on fire!"

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><p>Atop Blue Base, Church sighed, lowering the rifle. "Looks like they've set Grif on fire."<p>

"What do you think the point of that was? Distraction?"

"I dunno." Church said. Realizing something was missing, he added "Where' Caboose?"

"He said he was going to get a bowl of cereal. Nothing dangerous." Tucker answered. He made a point of keeping tabs on the third member of Blue Team, if only because knowing where he was substantially cut down on random mayhem.

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><p>Suddenly, a burning shape charged out the front entrance of Blue Base, screaming "OH MY GOD, WHY DID YOU DO THIS, COUNT CHOCULA?"<p>

"Sir... it looks like one of the Blues is on fire." Simmons said. Grif, who had managed to put himself out, was bowled over by the fiery form of Caboose, setting the orange soldier on fire once again.

"Darn Blues... stealin' my idea!" Sarge growled. "By the way, what's that smell?"

"Gas, sir. We got some of it all over you when we lit Grif on fire."

"Oh, hey, Red Sergeant and Simmons." Caboose said, somewhat cheerfully, before adding "DO YOU HAVE A FIRE EXTINGUISHER?"

"Suck it, Blue!" Simmons reflexively yelled, before realizing that he and Sarge were soaked in gas, and two burning idiots were charging headlong at them. "Son of a bitch!"


	2. Agent Maine

**Disclaimer**: Halo was created by Bungie and owned by Microsoft; Red Vs Blue is property of Rooster Teeth.

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><p>Agent Maine was dead, as far as the world was concerned. All that made Agent Maine human had long since been discarded irrecoverably; he had ceased to exist. No longer the trained Freelancer Agent Maine had been, it (for it was no longer possible to consider Agent Maine to be a person), was a feral animal. Maybe a smart animal, but not a man. A man would've displayed something; grief, regret, pride, anything, when it killed its comrades in order to attain their AIs and armor enhancements. A man would've shown emotion as it massacred its way through platoons. A man would not have blindly, instinctively rampaged, attempting to sate its hunger for power. In short, Agent Maine, the man, was dead. The Meta, an insane, vicious monster, was all that's left. A sick parody of a man serving as an example of all that was wrong with Project Freelancer.<p>

At least, that's what the world thought.

In reality, Agent Maine was in their all along. At least part of his sanity was left, locked in to bear witness to a path he had chosen. A little bit to feel for all the suffering the Meta had caused. A little bit to wonder why he wouldn't, why he couldn't stop. A little bit to deal with the voices of the AIs, screaming inside his head. Agent Maine was alive, but if he was able to say anything more than animalistic growls, he would've wished for death. He was aware that now he was chasing a floating bowling ball for... some reason. With Wash. Why had the same Agent that had tried to stop the Meta before agree to work with them? Agent Maine didn't care; he just wished someone would end it.

The Doctor had surprised him, overloading his time-distorter. That should've given then enough of an opening to finally end it, but the bumbling morons didn't. Wash hated Doc because he was an idiot. The Meta hated Doc because the Meta hated everyone. Agent Maine hated the Doc because he didn't seal the deal.

So they were in a desert, tracking down heat signatures. Maine was disappointed that the aliens were not all they were cracked up to be; he thought they might've been able to kill him. So Washington tracked the Epsilon Unit, for whatever reasons Wash had. The Meta tracked the Epsilon Unit because it wanted it. Doc and Maine followed; Doc because he was a prisoner (although a distractingly cheerful one) with a gun to his head, Maine because he was a prisoner in his own body.

And they kept tracking Epsilon. Part of what was left of Maine hoped that whoever had it, would manage to finally put an end to things. Another part knew that never would happen. Another part sarcastically reminded himself _you wanted to be the best of the best, Maine. And look where that got you_.


End file.
